


The Empathic Conversion Disorder

by predominantly_normal



Category: South Park
Genre: Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soulmates, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 07:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14076261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predominantly_normal/pseuds/predominantly_normal
Summary: AKA, "Soulmate Syndrome"- the etymology of the disorder boiled down to a single question: 'was it possible to love someone so much that it hurt?'[Oneshot][Wendyl/Kyle]





	The Empathic Conversion Disorder

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings For:  
> -Offensive Language  
> -Gender Dysphoria  
> -Depictions of Minor Injury

The Empathic Conversion Disorder

It was one of the more inexplicable phenomena of life- a medical condition only recorded before on internet forums and pseudo-psychology magazines. Dubbed by early online communities as ‘Soulmate Syndrome’, the strange affliction eventually received a much more medically accurate title:

Empathic Conversion Disorder, or ECD.

The condition was classified as a somatoform disorder- meaning it caused physical pain without a physical cause. And the etymology of ECD boiled down to a single question: _was it possible to love someone so much that it hurt?_

Kyle’s eyes stung with exhaustion as he stared at his computer screen. He was currently sixty-seven pages deep in to a google search of, “why does my arm hurt for no reason?”, and after stumbling across a few obscure websites about Empathic Conversion Disorder, he was starting to feel an odd sense of fear at how accurately the sites described his ache.

His eyes scanned another paragraph.

_“…ECD is often difficult for those afflicted to detect it as signs are typically overlooked as mere coincidences…”_

Kyle frowned. Yes, it certainly did seem like an odd coincidence that his arm would start aching on the same night that Wendy Testaburger had gotten a hairline fracture playing volleyball.

Stan had dragged Kyle to the final game of the season to cheer her on. Kyle hadn’t had much to do that night, nor was he viscously opposed to Wendy’s success, and so he’d helped Stan decorate a poster board and he’d gone to show his support for the _Lady Cows_ varsity team.

About halfway through the game, Wendy had taken a dive that had gone sour- and as the medic rushed onto the court, Kyle tried his best not to curse in agony as an excruciating flare of pain shot up his own arm.

The pain had subsided as soon as Stan and Kyle had left the game, but the strange sensation had been haunting Kyle for the past week.

Kyle bit his lip. From every article that he’d looked over, it seemed to be textbook that a prerequisite of ECD was an ‘extreme sense of empathy for or towards the other individual’.

It wasn’t as if Kyle didn’t care at _all_ about Wendy- their relationship fell somewhere within the gray area of ‘more than acquaintances, but less than friends’- but he certainly didn’t think he cared for her on a level strong enough to literally feel her pain.

He was her boyfriend’s best friend. That was it.

Kyle yawned, glancing at his alarm clock. It was nearly four in the morning, and he’d promised Stan that they could hang out before Stan’s practice and get breakfast. Reluctantly, he bookmarked the webpage he was on, and closed his laptop before crashing down upon his pillow.

* * *

 

“Thanks for dragging me out, dude,” Stan said, stirring his black coffee absentmindedly. “I was going to cancel on you, because I kind of feel like shit if I’m being honest here. But getting out of the house is probably a good thing.”

They sat together in the corner booth of _Carol’s_ , a mom-and-pop-shop diner that was mostly frequented by those old enough to have their grandkids prepare their eulogies.

Stan hardly touched his food, but occasionally took sips of his black coffee. It was a concerning sight for Kyle- Stan usually only ever took his coffee black when he was too upset to treat himself to cream and sugar.

Kyle felt a twinge of guilt bite at him- he’d been among the last to notice Stan’s recent depression. Of course, he’d been dealing with his own personal crisis at the time- but he still felt it was callous not to notice the way Stan had been dragging himself about as if he’d had a ball-and-chain fastened around his ankles.

“So, what’s going on, Stan? You look rough,” Kyle asked.

“I broke up with Wendy,” Stan said. At Kyle’s not-so-discreet groan, he managed to laugh. “I know, I know. You’re probably seriously tired of my relationship problems. But hear me out- this time was different.”

“This time was different,” Kyle parroted flatly. “That’s what you always say.”

“I’m serious,” Stan insisted. “It’s different. We’re not getting back together this time. It’s over. For good.”

“You always say that, too,” Kyle huffed. He glanced at Stan, and felt his gut drop at his best friend’s miserable expression. “Sorry. That’s rude of me. How do you know you’re not getting back together again?”

“It’s kind of got to do with the _reason_ I broke up with her… uh- _him_.”

“What do you mean?” Kyle asked, eyebrows raising.

“Well, Wendy came out to me the night after her- sorry, his- volleyball game. He told me he doesn’t feel like a girl anymore, and that he wants to transition into a dude or whatever. And you know- that’s fine with me. I don’t, like, having anything against transgender people. But I’m not gay, you know? It wouldn’t be fair for me to date him and still exclusively be into girls.”

Stan confessed all this with a remarkable tact- it was evident to Kyle that the decision to break-up hadn’t been a knee-jerk reaction, at very least.

Kyle sat back to let all of Stan’s words soak in. And finally, after a pause, he’d taken a sip of his own coffee and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. That makes a lot of sense. Shit, I’m sorry, dude.”

Stan sighed. “Thanks, man. The thing is- I know it was technically me who broke up with him, but I still feel awful about it. I just… do you think I did the right thing, Kyle?”

Kyle thought about it for a long time. And then, at last, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.”

* * *

The following Monday, Kyle had slipped in the parking lot on his way to school.

He’d twisted his ankle pretty roughly, and he’d limped the rest of the way into the building. By the time he’d made it to his locker, the first bell was already ringing. Kyle stuffed his coat into his locker and grabbed his books.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Wendy.

In a strange occurrence, the smaller boy was limping ever-so slightly as he passed by.

Kyle had done further research over the weekend, and he’d come to understand why ECD had been previously referred to as Soulmate Syndrome: it seemed to occur as a bond between two individuals.

It was a two-way phenomenon. Meaning that not only would Kyle feel Wendy’s pain- Wendy would feel Kyle’s.

Kyle decided to take a conversation up with Wendy to gather more information. Perhaps Wendy had conveniently fallen in a similar fashion to him that morning, and all this worrying over the potentiality of having ECD was a baseless figment of his own imagination.

Kyle brought the subject up to Wendy in their shared physics class.

They were desk partners (their physics teacher had thought it might prevent lazy students from riding the coattails of their more academic peers if he paired up lab partners based upon testing grades), which meant Kyle had more than enough time and space to talk to Wendy throughout the period.

Kyle felt his chest seize as he spoke. He found it hard to breathe.

“Hey, Wendy,” Kyle greeted gingerly.

“Hi,” Wendy replied. The boy was sporting a fresh haircut and a baggy sweatshirt. He lacked his typical makeup, but Kyle thought he looked more fitting without it.

“I heard you broke up with Stan,” Kyle blurted. He slapped himself internally- mentioning one’s exes was rarely an appropriate conversation starter, but he couldn’t think of anything else to talk about.

Wendy rolled his eyes. “First of all- Stan broke up with _me._ Secondly, it’s really none of your business.”

“Yeah, no. You’re totally right,” Kyle stammered. “I... - anyways, I noticed you limping. Are you alright?”

Wendy frowned, glancing down at his ankle. “I’m fine. I think I stepped on it funny this morning or something.”

“Oh,” Kyle said. And then, to avoid seeming aloof, added, “That sucks.”

Wendy nodded. “Yeah. It does,” he said.

“Sorry,” Kyle said, though he had no idea what precisely he was sorry about. “By the way…” Kyle glanced around the room to make sure there were no prying ears. The physics teacher was making his rounds, checking his students’ homework and attendance, but it seemed that not a soul was paying particular attention to him or Wendy.

“…Stan told me that you… ah, you’re transgender?”

Wendy’s eyes went wide. His eyes darted around the room. Kyle felt that same suffocating feeling, but this time it seemed less like a pressure pushing down on his ribcage, and more like a punch in his gut.

“What are you…” Wendy trailed off.

“Nothing! I’m not going to do anything you wouldn’t approve of,” Kyle assured him hurriedly. “But do you have some other name you’d want to be called, or-,”

Wendy stared down at the desk, averting his eyes. “Wendyl,” he said, so quietly that Kyle might’ve missed it had he not been attentive in listening. “I’m not out yet, though. So, you should still probably call me Wendy.”

“How’s ‘Wends’?” Kyle asked.

“That works too, I suppose.”

“Awesome. Yeah, of course,” Kyle said, offering Wendyl a reassuring grin. “Don’t worry- you’re safe with me, Wends.”

Wendyl smiled awkwardly. “Thanks, Kyle. I really appreciate it.”

At that moment, the pressure in Kyle’s chest seemed to lift just slightly.

* * *

 

There was one couple in the area that had served as a documented case of Empathic Conversion Disorder. They’d even made the local news. Their relationship was something of a small-town novelty because of that; and because they’d been one of the two resident gay couples in the area since the fourth grade.

Luckily, Kyle knew them both pretty well.

He pulled Craig to the side as they were walking to their lunch period.

“Hey, Craig, I need to talk to you about something,” Kyle said.

“Why the fuck would I want to talk to you?” Craig snapped. Kyle groaned- he’d talk to Craig’s slightly-more-pleasant-yet-exceedingly-more-neurotic boyfriend, Tweek, if he could, but Tweek had always been a bit closed off about his personal life. Kyle needed all the information he could get- therefore he needed Craig.

“I’ll buy you lunch,” Kyle bargained. “Wherever you want- on me.”

Craig sighed, but Kyle could see that he’d captured Craig’s interest. “What the hell is this about, Broflovski?”

“I want to know more about Empathic Conversion Disorders,” Kyle said honestly. “And I feel like a firsthand account might be more useful to me than online research.”

Craig’s expression fell softer for a moment. After a short bit of self-debate, he huffed and pulled out his car keys. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Soon, both boys were sitting at the local fast food joint- a tray of burgers and French fries sitting as an unspoken barrier between them. Craig took a sip of the smoothie he’d ordered on Kyle’s tab.

“So, what do you want to know?”

“Right, uh-,” Kyle hastily pulled out a notebook and pen. “So, when did you find out about your ECD?”

“Seventh grade,” Craig said. He stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth.

Kyle bit his lower lip. “Care to… elaborate?”

“Sure, I guess. Yeah, seventh grade. That’s the year Tweek broke his leg. He was mopping up at Tweek Bros., and he slipped. I was in the middle of playing a videogame when it happened, and I remember all of a sudden feeling this shooting pain in my leg. It was so bad, I ended up going to the ER- only for the nurse to tell me that there was nothing wrong. But I couldn’t even fucking walk because of the pain, so I ended up going to a psychologist out of desperation, and _she_ was the one who informally diagnosed me.”

“So, you started experiencing it in the seventh grade?” Kyle recapped.

“Not really- that’s just when I found out about it. After I got diagnosed- well, I started to realize shit. Like back when Tweek and I fought in the third grade. I remember laying in the hospital and feeling twice as banged up as I should’ve been. I don’t think it’s something you get after a certain instance. It’s just- it’s there one day. Like a fucking zit or something.”

Kyle nodded. “Right. How’d you bring it up to Tweek, then?”

“Fuck, you know how clumsy that kid is,” Craig huffed. “I eventually told him just so that he’d start being more careful. I love the guy, but he was actually killing me at one point.”

Kyle sighed, and his breath left him shakily. “Thank you. One more question.”

“Shoot.”

“What might I do if I could even _potentially_ have something resembling ECD?”

“Shit, figured,” Craig pursed his lips. “With who?”

“Wen- uh, Testaburger,” Kyle admitted. “I think so, at least. I mean, I don’t know _how_ seeing as I hardly even talk to them outside of school-,”

Craig leaned back and blew air out of his nose. “It’s not something you can, like, fucking measure based on how close you feel with someone. Let’s put it this way: empathy is weird. I mean, we can all empathize with other people to some degree, right? But sometimes there’s… something else. There’s something that’s inherently about the other person that you connect with.”

Kyle racked his brain. He’d always admired Wendyl’s drive and his academic motivation- that much was obvious to him. But he found it hard to pinpoint any innate qualities about Wendyl that made him feel _connected_ to the other boy. The more he thought about it, the more he came to realize that there really was nothing deep or spectacular about his relationship with Wendyl.

This, of course, only served to frustrate him more.

Craig broke Kyle out of his thoughts with a grunt. “Look, if you’re trying to get rid of it- good luck. My advice is to avoid her.”

“W-what?”

“See, because your bond with Wendy probably isn’t too strong from what you’ve told me- the farther you are away from her, the weaker your empathic pain is going to be. Of course, it depends on how extreme the pain is, but… that’s the basics of it.”

“Right. Thanks, Craig.”

“No problem. You gonna finish those?” Craig asked, pointing to Kyle’s box of chicken strips. Kyle shook his head.

“They’re all yours.”

* * *

 

After his talk with Craig, Kyle decided that the other’s suggestion to avoid Wendyl was probably the ideal route.

Despite their school being relatively small, it proved easy enough for Kyle to cut off all unnecessary contact with Wendyl throughout his day. During the study hall they shared, Kyle started to hide out in the band room. And now that Stan had formally broken up, there was little reason for either of them to be in radius of one another outside of school.

The only troublesome timeframe of the day became Kyle’s physics class.

During that hour, Kyle was completely vulnerable to any and all pain Wendyl received.

Thankfully, though, Wendyl was hardly as accident-prone as Tweek. If Kyle was honest, he’d even admit that he’d completely forgotten about his self-diagnosed ECD for a while.

But like all good things- it wouldn’t last forever.

Kyle felt it as soon as Wendyl walked into the room.

The pain was hard to describe, but it hurt enough to force Kyle into taking a moment to catch his breath. His chest suddenly felt a constricting soreness, and it became hard to breathe. An anxious spike shot up his spine, and it suddenly felt as if everyone in the room were staring right at him. His stomach felt like it was experiencing an endless drop on a roller coaster.

He felt angry, and sad, and more than anything else- empty.

He wanted to rip himself out of his own skin.

Wendyl sat down next to him. The boy looked on-edge. He wrapped his coat tighter around his body as he settled into his seat.

“You okay, Wends?” Kyle asked, leaning over.

“Fine,” Wendyl lied. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. You seem upset.”

“I’m alright. Thank you for your concern, though,” Wendyl said, his voice edging on annoyed.

“Sure,” Kyle relented. “But if you ever want to talk… I’m here for you.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep you in mind.” Wendyl snapped bitterly.

The two left it at that.

* * *

 

The following days were no better.

Kyle began to dread physics. As soon as Wendyl arrived, it seemed as if every inch of Kyle’s body was on pinpricks.

It was a similar pain each time- an inescapable sickness that made Kyle want to crawl out of his own body and recede into nothingness. He felt as if his muscles were sore from tensing- like he was always in a danger that he couldn’t even see.

He was irritable, and anxious, and even the simplest actions started to consume all of his energy.

Eventually, he got sick of it.

“Wendyl, you need to tell me what’s wrong,” Kyle snapped as soon as Wendyl sat down besides him.

“Kyle, I’m okay. Really. Have you always been such a mom?” Wendyl laughed awkwardly.

“I’m serious!” Kyle growled. “You are so clearly _not_ okay, dude! I can literally _feel_ it!”

It wasn’t a lie. The pain in Kyle’s chest was akin to that of being in the binding grasp of a python.

“Look, it’s personal stuff. That’s all. You shouldn’t worry so much,” Wendyl sighed.

“Is it about Stan?” Kyle blurted, desperate to rid himself of the constant ache that plagued him.

“What? No!” Wendyl frowned. “God, just drop it, Kyle! It’s not that big of a deal. Honestly.”

Kyle frowned. But it _was_ a big deal- because if _he_ was feeling all of these awful things, then so was Wendyl. And it hurt Kyle to imagine that Wendyl dealt with this burden constantly. After all, Kyle could escape it as soon as the dismissal bell rung- Wendyl couldn’t.

Kyle tried to offer Wendyl his kindest disposition. “I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. Do you want to hang out tonight? My place. I think I want to show you something.”

Wendyl eyed Kyle suspiciously, but after a long moment of thought, finally relented. “Okay.”

* * *

 

Kyle stopped Craig in the halls. Around them, students rushed to the exits of the building, eager to leave for the weekend.

“What the fuck do you want, dude?” Craig snapped. “I answered all your stupid fucking questions, didn’t I?”

“I have one more,” Kyle said. “Please.”

Craig sighed. “Fine. One more. And then I’m fucking done, alright?”

“Deal,” Kyle said. “Okay, do you ever get anxious? Like, do you ever feel Tweek’s anxiety?”

Craig shifted awkwardly from one leg to the other. “Yeah, sometimes,” he admitted. “It gets rough when he has panic attacks or whatever. But it’s not the same as the kind of pain I’d get if he slammed his hand in a door or something. It’s different. It feels more like a sickness than an actual physical pain, if you get what I mean.”

Kyle broke out into a smile. “I get exactly what you mean. Thank you, Craig.”

“Yeah? Am I done now? Then fuck off,” Craig snapped.

“Will do.”

* * *

 

After instructing him to kick his boots off at the door, Kyle lead Wendyl up to his room. Kyle’s chest squeezes as they climb the stairs.

“So, what’s this thing you had to show me?” Wendyl asked, glancing around Kyle’s room.

Kyle bit the inside of his cheek. If he was wrong about this- well, he’d definitely have an awkward remainder of his senior year with Wendyl in physics. But if he was right…

To be honest, the possibility that he was right scared him way more than the possibility that he was wrong.

“Wendyl, what I’m about to do is going to be really weird. All I ask is that you don’t hate me too much if I turn out to be right about this,” Kyle declared.

Wendyl smiled out of polite confusion. “Okay? Go ahead. I’m ready.”

Without further hesitation, Kyle shoved his thumb in the gap of his open desk drawer. Then, with all the force he possessed, he slammed the drawer shut.

“Jesus Christ!” Wendyl yelped.

“Did that hurt?” Kyle asked, trying his best to ignore his now-throbbing thumb.

“Yes! Of course, that- wait, _what?!”_ Wendyl’s eyes widened in a fashion almost comical. Wendyl stared down at his thumb, and then at Kyle. “I’m sorry, but what the _hell_ did you just do?”

“Shit,” Kyle said. So that proved it, then. He had an Empathic Conversion Disorder. And he had it with Wendyl.

Suddenly, he felt Wendyl’s fists around his shirt collar. “I’m not kidding, Kyle. Tell me what you just did to me, or I _swear_ -,”

Kyle found his spit hard to swallow. “Wendyl, calm down. Have you ever heard of an Empathic Conversion Disorder?”

Wendyl’s grip slackened. He backed away cautiously. “You have ten minutes to explain this to me.”

Kyle nodded. He could work with that.

He spoke quickly and concisely. He sounded like his dad did when he was giving his closing statements at a courthouse. With as much nuance as possible, he summarized the medical phenomenon of ECD, the research he’d done, and the conversations he’d had with Craig.

By the end of it, Wendyl could do nothing else but stare.

“Wow,” he said finally. “You know, I always did feel weirdly sick back when we were kids. Mom wouldn’t ever let me take school off, because I never ran a temperature.”

“Right. And I had an awful immune system. I was always down with something,” Kyle agreed. “And recently, I’ve been feeling… well, bad. When I’m around you, it’s like- I’m suddenly at war with my own skin. I feel like there’s this insane pressure on my ribs, and I can’t even breathe.

Wendyl winced. “I’m sorry, Kyle.”

“Is that how you feel? All the time?’

“It fluctuates during the day, but yeah- for the most part,” Wendyl admitted. “My dysphoria’s been acting up like hell recently.”

“Dysphoria,” Kyle said.

“Yeah,” Wendyl said. “It’s discomfort, and in my case, it’s because I’m trans and my body isn’t really that superb at being in-synch with my mind. I suppose it’s getting worse because I’m starting to really notice how poorly I fit in with all the other boys in our grade. Like, I know I should stay positive or whatever, but I can’t help it. I… I _hate_ myself. I hate my body. I hate how it looks, and I hate how it makes me feel.”

“And the ribs-,”

“I double bind sometimes,” Wendyl confessed. He laughed a bit, out of catharsis. “I know I shouldn’t. There isn’t even a real reason for me to require it- it’s not as if I’m well-endowed or anything. But it helps, I guess, with the whole mental aspect of everything.”

“You can’t do that anymore,” Kyle said. He recalled how Craig had come to Tweek about their shared bond- how he had eventually caved into his confession because he needed Tweek to be more careful. “Please, Wends. For my sake.”

Wendyl sighed. “Okay. I’ll try not to anymore. I’m… really sorry I put you through this. Is there a way we can stop it?”

Kyle sat down on his bed. Wendyl followed. They were close enough for their knees to bump.

“Firstly, it goes both ways. So, technically, you’re just about as screwed over as I am by this. Secondly, yeah. There’s a band-aid cure: distance. The farther away we are, the less pain we should feel between one another. That’s why I usually don’t get your dysphoria until you’re by our physics class.”

“Okay. I’ll request to change classes, then,” Wendyl said. There was something hesitant and unsure in his voice. And even if Kyle hadn’t heard it, he would’ve easily _felt_ it.

“I don’t want you to do that,” Kyle said. “Believe me, I enjoy dealing with your dysphoria about as much as you do. But I think we became afflicted with this for a reason. And it would be a waste to just throw it away without even trying to see if we can get something good out of it. I mean, if I can use this… _condition_ to help you- I will.”

“Do you feel it now?” Wendyl asked.

“I feel like there’s an emptiness somewhere. Like, hollow. It’s not painful, but I wouldn’t call it pleasant either.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Wendyl confirmed.

“But there’s no anxiety. Usually I feel anxious, too.”

“Well, I’m not anxious right now, if that explains it,” Wendyl said. “Maybe it’s because I’m not out in public. I’m just with you.” Wendyl cracked a small grin. “Although, my thumb still stings a bit.”

Kyle laughed. “Mine too.”

And then there was silence. A hushed, tensed, silence. The kind of silence that is used to juxtapose the loudest noise imaginable.

Without a moment of hesitation, Wendyl leaned in and pressed his lips to Kyle’s.

They pulled back almost immediately, Wendyl spluttering an endless string of incoherent apologies. Kyle wasn’t even listening. He was staring at the way Wendyl’s face flooded with red, and he was admiring the way Wendyl moved his hands in big wide arcs when he rambled.

“So,” Kyle said, interrupting Wendyl’s tangent. “Did you know that I’m bisexual?”

Wendyl paused. There was a long beat of rest between them. And then finally, Wendyl laughed in relief. “You are?”

Kyle grinned. “I am. And if it’s not super awkward, do you maybe want to grab something to eat?”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“I think I am,” Kyle said. “You know, they have a nickname for ECD. Soulmate Syndrome. Now, I don’t know how much I believe in the concept of soulmates, but I think I might want to find out if there’s a warrant to that pseudonym.”

“Well, since today can’t possibly get weirder-,” Wendyl shook his head in disbelief. “I begrudgingly accept.”

“Great. And hey, before we go out…,” Kyle took in a shallow breath and patted his chest. “Take off your second binder. It’s starting to suffocate me just a bit.”

Wendyl looked defensive for a moment, but relented after almost instantly. “Fine.”

With that, Wendyl disappeared into the bathroom. And as soon as Kyle felt the compression ease on his chest, he took a big breath in.

And he knew that everything was going to be just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this concept in my head for like a month now, and I had a decent opportunity to hash something out with it. This is far from my best or most carefully written work, but I hope it's at most enjoyable and at least comprehensible.


End file.
